It takes a certain kind of personality to push through the tailor field. The work entails engineer minds for functionality, creative power for tapping vibrant soul expression, anatomy and psychology for doctoral remedies, and notorious patience. You must be ready to step into the boxing ring and face the punches of stitches. Time is on a high beam that needs to be retained with accurate execution and short of falls. Sometimes you are hanging by the threads and deep in the singing trenches with only your back stitches holding everything together. It is there in the river banks of collars, pockets, buttons, and gowns where can pan gold to spin of ancient woven stories. The professional dream weavers are performing the ritual from dawn to dusk in the forever seven days.

The stoops of Brooklyn sit with a waiting calm as the trees whistle a breeze while the locust sound mark the end of summer. There are those who search for work on Labor Day as the incoming tide of fashioned debts come flooding in. New York also known historically as part of the key stone states, continues to hold the predestined Californian gold key that unlocks the ancient riddle of society. Here we are in due time and in need to find that that key on the ring.  Finding this key recalls the music that smells like rebellious spirit but all it does is open the molding Chamber St. subway station that presents soul that only your psyche can remember and read. Welcome to the five points of the world.

Where is it? It is in a patched-up piece of land titled America. Every place has had a five points at times but America has been a burning buildup of liberated spirits. Yes, New York City’s infamous five points in the 1800s is a slice of the world pie. Bringing all immigrants from the world learning how to live together and shake off the shackles of slavery with the enduring Lenape paths. Either living in New York, visiting, or using your google GPS you can now access this Manhattan Five Points zone seeing it has become a children’s playground at center while surrounded by the New York City supreme and civil courts. Who would of guess that this was such an outcome and what does it mean? That it carries on the continued display of major disputes beyond concrete walls with only the playground as a last call for justice served? Do not ever fall for the lies of nationalism in any country propagated by the professional historic actors famed as politicians who look at soldier’s graves to only remark, “That could have been my vote”. Only a very few in the world have spit out higher remarks and are remembered for their kindness.

Larks these days like to cook up the times of caves and catacombs as heirs to the fire of why we are here. Yet this dimension of experience in vastness of gained knowledge for the planet and the universe secures the hopeful survival to reach a shore plain and feel the final rest of festivity. The states, the patches of land, of America all wear the organic scars of the world unknowingly until now as the youth wake up from their nest ready to fly from their cultured beliefs. To labor together they can produce the wildest rich fruits that the world needs. When a country grows up, the world gains a fruitful tree in the growing desert. Made in America tags stitched on and ready to trade out what is needed in the planet’s stock for life with no pied piper interference. What life is in the Mariana Trench? What life is in the Amazon Rainforest? What is the core of earth made of? Are of the many questions rewarded in time to dwell on.

The moon cast out from ourselves as a personal mirror to answer out such questions on exceeded time. Looking out daily seeing the ongoing anticyclonic red storm on Jupiter, the gravitational waves rolling in and out, and the sparking womb of the starburst galaxy from a Brooklyn stoop allows the reasons to live and extend the beauty. When people murmur the question, “What year are we in?” with stressing of dissatisfaction then it can be argued that indeed 2017 is not the correct year to be chiming to. The current view has a passing black hole sun that could align the five points of America with all the corners of the world to reach for a progressively real “New World”. Una palabra para todas las personas unidas en la vida.

In the late 1970s at a New York, Harlem corner there were three men battling each other through the art of tap. Sandman Sims, Bunny Briggs, and Chuck Green all in class as master tappers. They were all out eyeing and listening to each other to bring out the best of self. True soul bouncing found in community support of feet musicality. Everyone is set on a destination of occupation yet only the few rough out to pioneer with no map. No doubt many losses and clauses included to such endeavors that time never fancies with only luck to break off the melted pieces.

Melt away from Harlem to seep into an unlocked Hollyhock house that publicly opens Loyd and all future dreamers to cultivate a better way of living. Ancient dancers such as Hunahpa and Xbalangue demonstrated their taps to Xiabalba in merit a message passed through a fly to a toad to a snake to a falcon to the interior of the Hollyhock house with a slate of Popol Vuh. That slate with a message in gut instincts grown in a Brooklyn garden.

Go to that garden at dawn and listen as Prokofiev captures all the reasoning that inspires the plants growth toward the sun. The hawks and sparrows take flight of the long road as a Passolini passage of film. A road paved by hands full of the famed blood, sweat, and tears that walk back like a jaguar in the night.

The W. H. Compton Shear company based in Newark, New Jersey had patented radically reliant shears that found a place to siesta in New York City. That place being Hecht Sewing Machine and Motor where carefully wrapped in a Compton inked enveloped lay slumber a 1900s shear that was ready to snip out into full action. The man behind the counter bestowed that, “Yes, maybe a few, but we still make beautiful things here in New York”.  Perhaps the company name now packs a punch with an NWA twist that harkens back to couture of thee William Compton, but no doubt these sexy shears slice fabric with the finest point. In the rite of spring dispersed an awakening soul sharpened shear that bares a Stravinsky bitonality.

Music by Leonard Lehman

Libretto by Ellen Frankel

With the Metropolitan Philharmonic Chorus in association with the Bronx Opera and the Solidarity Singers of the New Jersey Industrial Union Council.

Hosted at New York University.

It is important to write now,

To paint, to stitch.

Feed your music, films, and book buckets for further cultivation.

To not be drained out on countless media platforms.

To not be afraid of the big brother eye,

For mine is already in the sky.

Pacific Coast wisdom back to Atlantis state of mind.

Where to meet someone really kind.

Week of Wonders in evergreen times.

Up on the shelves in the Poconos two book binders read:

What Am I Doing Here? – Abner Dean

Is Anyone There? – Isaac Asimov

Rained in surrounded by emerald forestry where these questions could take front stage. How did I get here?…

“Making It” was a sewing school in Philadelphia that offered city kids advanced learning in the sewing trade. It was a place where could be left alone on projects and tune into higher concentration of thought and reflections. Forget soccer and tennis, stitching was the sport. A teacher presented the idea that there were three types of dress in the world: Simplistic, Romantic, and Eccentric. The question was which one were you?

The school was also next to a funeral home that happened to be where my brother’s wake was held. Side by side, stitch by stitch, spinning threads and Santi’s Zappa albums began to hone skills in the big pattern puzzle where with patience could begin to dig out and start “Making it”.